An Abundance of Hope
by Searider Falcon
Summary: He'd like to prove to her – no, to both of them, really – that they too deserve all of life's beauty in their lives as well and they can share it together.


**Title:** An Abundance of Hope

 **Author:** Rina (Searider Falcon)

 **Summary:** He'd like to prove to her – no, to both of them, really – that they too deserve all of life's beauty in their lives as well and they can share it together.

 **Disclaimer:** The Nanny and its characters are all the property of Sony Pictures, High School Sweethearts, and Sternin & Fraser's Ink, Inc. I make no profit from writing and sharing this story.

 **A/N:** Written for a smut drabble meme with the prompt "shy" from GleekyGeorgie. I never managed to condense my original concept for this piece into 100 words, so I finally accepted that it needed to be a ficlet instead (which will hopeful make up for the fact she had to wait over a year for this as well). This is one of the two ficlets I mentioned in the notes for the Trinity drabble collection.

* * *

It's always incredible with her, but he holds a slight preference toward their more impromptu interludes. Spontaneity is easier. It's all skin and heat. Pure exhilaration. Nothing more. No room to dwell nor for anything else.

Taking it slower gives them both time to think too much. It gives him time to sense her doubts. It's not always there, but occasionally, she's timid and a bit more anxious. It's an unusual cloak she wears then. One doesn't have to know her well to realize that C.C. Babcock is simply not a shy woman.

And yet...she doesn't always meet his eyes.

He's almost certain that, sometimes, with each button undone, she revisits every insult he flung at her over the years. While he can't fathom that he's capable of looking at her anymore without broadcasting every ounce of complete adoration and attraction he feels toward her, he suspects she's afraid she'll find confirmation of just the opposite if she looks up. Something in the way she moves reminds him of the not so distant past, of the way her body often tensed when she realized she'd just fallen for one of his pranks. He thinks she's waiting for the big reveal on his most elaborate one yet.

She reaches for him with careful fingers, as though she's afraid he might suddenly bolt or resist. Yet once he's in her grasp, she clings fast to him like he just might evaporate if she doesn't hold on tight enough. She'll kiss him as though she's committing it to memory, and sometimes he detects a slight hitch in her breath. It's a beat out of step with the rhythm they've set. It hints to some secret sorrow he wishes he knew how to soothe. When he does catch her eyes in those brief moments that she doesn't keep them closed or averted, he sees that she's some distance away. Maybe it's tomorrow or maybe it's years from now. Wherever she is, she's not entirely present. He suspects it's not a place an abundance of hope.

It's still skin and heat and oh so exhilarating, yet that awareness lends such an intensity to their connection. It's impossible to ignore. It reminds him that he's scared too. They're still at a tenuous point in their relationship. The future might hold so much for them, but he's terrified she'll leave him anyway. This time could be the last. He knows he might not be worthy of her absolution. Then all he'll have left is memory and regret. Wondering what might have been almost sounds easier than the exquisite agony of knowing and loving her and then losing everything with her anyway. He's far beyond that point now, though, and has no choice but to forge ahead. He'd be proving her right if he did anyway. He'd like to prove to her – no, to both of them, really – that they too deserve all of life's beauty in their lives as well and they can share it together.

He tries in desperation to kiss away all his many lies and rewrite the truth upon her skin with every brush of his fingertips. With voiceless whispers against her neck when she arches into him, he makes promises to her that she certainly won't accept just yet. He just prays somehow, on some unconscious level, it cracks through her shell of diffidence all the same. Through gasping breaths and stilted words when they approach the edge and topple over it, he does tell her just how overwhelmed he is by her touch, her simple presence here with him. That, at least, she'll hear.

Perhaps in those moments, where only their truths can exist, she'll start believing in him...and in them. It'll have to suffice until he manages to weed out the mess he created with his own mistakes that created such a solid foundation for her fears and plant seeds of hope instead. Whatever fruitless eventuality she sees, they don't have to allow it to become a reality.


End file.
